KEN ALLAN DRONSFIELD - POEMS

Ken Allan Dronsfield is a disabled veteran and poet who was nominated for The Best of the Net and 2 Pushcart Awards for Poetry in 2016. His poetry has been published world-wide in various publications throughout North and South America, Europe, Asia, Australia and Africa. His work has appeared in The Burningword Journal, Belle Reve Journal, SETU Magazine, The Literary Hatchet, The Stray Branch, Now/Then Manchester Magazine UK, Bewildering Stories, Scarlet Leaf Review/Print and Online, EMBOSS Magazine (Print), and many more. Ken loves thunderstorms, walking in the woods at night, and spending time with his cats Willa, Hemi and Turbo. His book, "The Cellaring", a collection of haunting, paranormal, weird and wonderful poems, has been released and is available through Amazon.com. He is the co-editor of two poetry anthologies, Moonlight Dreamers of Yellow Haze and Dandelion in a Vase of Roses available from Amazon.com.

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Wrong Side of the Asylum
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​Bare feet, dirty,
scarred and bloody
chains hang from
wrists and waist
hair grows wild,
lice laden and dirty
skin and bones,
colored in death.
An apple core,
taken from a bed,
a fight or flight,
no question there
time slows down,
noise of boredom
irrelevant gaze
through the stare.
Jovial memories
buried under feces
odors of stench
reek all around him
limbs like sticks,
breath but a wheeze
here in the wrong side,
of this hellish asylum.
 

The Shrill
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​In the dead of night,
upon a haunted rise.
Blackbirds serenade
in long shrieking shrills.
A cloaked figure rises,
black and boldly hums
his sonnet to the lonely,
feeding icy crispy mists.
A pouting moon dances,
clouds blow feted kisses,
Coyotes chant to the stars
a sharpness like the blade.
Vibrations move all about
in the muddy ruddy hollow,
sun chases away lost spirits,
disappearing within the light.
Serenading sonnets of joy,
by the creek dance the faeries.
And the Blackbirds shall return
with a Shrill just after twilight.
 

Stalking Lilacs
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​Shattered heart of an unfulfilled love
the imperiled song devoid of empathy
blistered iced essence wafts at twilight
dodging streetlamps on Second Street
wipe bloody shoes on the back of pants
patiently wait for a soiled dove parade
Lick the shaft after a slice to the throat.
voices in my head mimic a red vulture
moving upstairs through paper dolls
loving the blade as it devours a soul
sharp is the edge of an obsidian knife
stalking lilacs throughout the darkness.
Swirling chimera ends in silent screams
a rancid city dances with sliced echoes.
 

Gleeful Cackles, V2
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Adrift upon an old oak leaf
floating down a slow creek
small koi and ducks meet
waving goodbye to summer.
Faeries giggling at twilight
gnomes and goblins a fright
Autumn solstice frosty white
as the witches gleefully cackle.
Cauldron boils briskly steaming
pumpkins dance, wryly grinning
sitting upon an oak leaf dreaming
the solstice now brings a change.
(V1 Published in Peeking Cat Poetry, 2016)
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Moon Flower Dreams
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An evening of fire, brimstone and desire;
walking with a torch to the Pulpit of Dark.
Book in hand, followers unite and stand;
preaching torrents by the burning sparks.
Mumbling to the Moon; a diabolical belief;
the devil reaches out to devour the devout.
Breathe into a cauldron, exhale in shadows;
crucible burns long gnarly twisted fingers.
Raise high to your deity; sky or far below.
A dark spirit rises, a tempted Watcher lingers
in an anointed dance of wretched tendencies,
lost within ethereal dreams of moon flowers.
Pity a reddish orb dancing in a velveteen sky;
praise the virtuous ones in their secreted piety.
My skin is ice cold as the clock strikes twelve,
now running away in a mirthless gratification.

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